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ajestic outline standing sentry over the huddle of ancient houses below. In the river at our feet, the blinding image was reflected clearly, with scarcely a tremor to disturb its still perfection.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Paul asked me.
I nodded dumbly, gazing up at the pale outline of the tower that marked the furthest jutting corner of the castle walls. The Moulin Tower. Isabelle’s tower. Again I saw the shadow moving softly past the window, but before the shadow formed a shape, a wind arose and rippled down the river, and the bits of bright reflection broke and scattered on a rolling surge of darkness.
Chapter 5
“Come out,” he said…
The telephone was ringing as I stepped from the shower early next morning. Still dripping, I grabbed a towel and made a lunge for the receiver.
“Hello?”
The line crackled unhelpfully for a few seconds, and then a deep familiar voice came booming down the line. “Emily? Is that you?”
“Daddy?”
It would have been difficult, at that moment, to judge which one of us was more surprised to hear the other.
“What the devil are you doing in France?” demanded my father. “You ought to be in Essex.”
“I’m on holiday,” I told him.
“What?”
“Holiday,” I said, raising my voice above the static of the transatlantic line. “In Chinon.” I frowned. “How did you get my number?”
“Didn’t know it was your number, did I? They must not have heard me clearly at the front desk, I suppose… put me through to the wrong room.”
My frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”
“I was trying to reach Harry.”
“Harry?” My voice was swallowed by a sudden burst of static that didn’t quite disguise my father’s sharp oath.
“Blast these telephone lines,” he said. “We can put a man on the moon, but we can’t talk to him, there’s the tragedy. Can you hear me now? I was saying,” he went on, speaking more distinctly, “that I was trying to reach Harry. Trying to return his call, rather.”
“Harry telephoned you?” I repeated, stupidly.
“Apparently. He left a message on the machine.”
“When was this?”
“I’ve no idea, love. Yesterday, I suppose, or perhaps the day before. I’ve been in Buenos Aires for a few days, on business.”
“What, golfing with Carlos again, you mean?”
“Carlos is business, my girl, so don’t you go sounding all superior,” my father set me straight. “Anyhow, I’ve not rung to talk to you, now have I? So fetch me Harry, will you? Put him on the phone.”
“He isn’t here.”
“He’s not out in the ruins at this hour, surely? It can’t be breakfast time there, yet.”
“Half six,” I told him. “And he really isn’t here. He was supposed to meet me yesterday, but he hasn’t turned up yet.”
“Hasn’t turned up?” My father feigned surprise. “Our Harry? Now, there’s an item for the evening news.” His voice was dry. “We are talking about my nephew, aren’t we? The same boy who kept you waiting seven hours at the airport because he wanted to see where a footpath went?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
